


always sunny (in a rich man's world)

by hamlet1971



Category: Hotel Artemis (2018), Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Farmer's Market, Crack Treated Seriously, Developing Relationship, Humor, I am so sorry, M/M, Romance, explicit jeff goldblum
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 17:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18721444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamlet1971/pseuds/hamlet1971
Summary: Resiliency, defined by the Merriam Webster Dictionary asthe capacity to recover quickly from difficulties, is a word that has always found a home in Orian Franklin's vocabulary.Mid-life crisis is another big one.(In which The Wolf King copes with his early retirement by frequenting farm-fresh stands, heirloom tomatoes make for far more serious business than money laundering ever did, and Newt Geiszler is a modern miracle all by himself.)





	always sunny (in a rich man's world)

**Author's Note:**

> yes i did that
> 
> title is from mamma mia

 

 

Resiliency, defined by the Merriam Webster Dictionary as _the capacity to recover quickly from difficulties_ , is a word that has always found a home in Orian Franklin’s vocabulary.

 

For all the media and interpersonal hype surrounding the more lucrative aspects of his particular career, Orian Franklin has never found extravagance to be too appealing. He would instead say that the most satisfying part of his job would be outside the realm of money coming in.

 

It’s the  _longevity._

 

Even that doesn’t hold up all too well, in the grand scheme of things.

 

————

 

Wallowing as best as he can while his beautiful, exposed-brick penthouse is flooded with natural light, Orian can’t remember the last time he sulked this much since his second wife filed for what he once referred to as their ‘mutually amicable split’.

 

There’s an active effort made to control how hard he’s squeezing each grapefruit for his breakfast after his first incident, involving juice all over his button-up and granite countertops. He’s frustrated, that was made clear enough. He’s allowed room to be frustrated, of course.

 

Somehow the minimalist-abstract art pieces hanging over his stretch couch only serve to irritate him further, contrary to the reason he originally bought them in the first place. Maybe some part of him feels as lonely as the grey watercolor blob suspended in the middle of a big, blank canvas.

 

He’s being ridiculous. He’s- goddamnit, he’s allowed room to be _ridiculous._

 

It’s not like he’s the impassive, untouchable leader of a criminal empire or anything.

 

————

 

The first time he sees Newt Geiszler is not the first time they meet. He would like to make the distinction, these are two very different things.

 

He’s stalking around the local farmer’s market with a little wicker basket of fresh arugula nestled in the crook of his arm, striking an intimidating or at least extremely hungover figure in his Ray-Bans if the four-foot circle of space that’s been cleared around him is anything to go by. He hasn’t done his own produce shopping in a very long time.

 

What first catches his interest is the offensively bright, tented stand sandwiched right between a selection of artisanal lingonberry jams and a display of freshly-baked ciabatta. There’s a sign in a bold, electric shade of blue next to what looks like a cartoon of what’s supposed to be Godzilla.

 

KAIJU BREW, it says. From what Orian knows of craft beer, he’s pretty sure it shouldn’t be that color.

 

That’s only the second most interesting thing about his new discovery. The tiny man in leather, playing an enthusiastic air-guitar for the apparent amusement of a child tagging along behind her mother is something special entirely. It’s a little dumbfounding that his presence is so overwhelming, even from a distance, that the tattoo sleeves are an afterthought.

 

He parks himself next to a tray of free samples to simply- observe. Consider the circumstances. He’s cased enough joints in his lifetime to make an accurate assessment of both people and places alike. This is what rubs him in just the wrong way he was hoping for, with every glance he makes, Mr. Kaiju Brew only grows more impossible to pin down.

 

Orian thinks he might just be distracted by the freckles. The Back To The Future 3 shirt. The plastic periodic table slung up in the back as a makeshift banner, for reasons he can’t yet comprehend.

 

————

 

The Wolf King gives an experimental flick to the top of a bottle labeled KNIFEHEAD. It’s still in that same font, still with an illustration of what he can only describe as a sci-fi dinosaur, or something else equally teenaged. He’s since learned the stand’s owner, one _Newt Geiszler_ , is far too old and with too many doctorates to be doing this.

 

He clears his throat. Geiszler whips around so fast the stray headphone pod left dangling out of his ear hits him in the face. His eyes go wide with something Orian can’t place, before he’s leaning with his forearms on the counter and pointing at the beer he was examining. The movement- jangles. He’s wearing bead bracelets.

 

“Knifehead, huh?” Newt chirps. His voice is raspier than Orian was prepared for. “That one’s a beauty. Bet you’ve never seen that color before, or at least not all-natural.”

 

So, he’s a bit of a dick, too. His confidence is infectious. Orian is- he stops himself before he can let that particular thought get away from him- he’s what he would call _thoroughly amused_.  His interest, thoroughly piqued. He plucks the bottle off the gingham tablecloth and inspects the little carbonated bubbles floating to the top of the obscenely red drink more closely, and the way Geiszler’s eyes track the smooth motion of his arm while he’s doing so definitively does not escape his notice.

 

“Mmm, no, no, I definitely see it. Quite, uh, quite pronounced, there. Fantastic. Almost-” Orian waves the bottle lazily through the air for emphasis, swishing the drink around, “Fluorescent, maybe. Tell me, does it glow in the dark?”

 

Newt laughs. It nearly splits his face in two. “I wish, man. _You_ might, after drinking it.”

 

Orian raises an eyebrow, and Geiszler quickly backpedals, “Not to say that it’s not healthy. All organic, dude. Clean brew. Simple chemistry.”

 

The way his words trip out of his mouth at such a fast clip suggests that Newt Geiszler has an innate, incredible talent for rambling that Orian really, truly wants to stick around to witness firsthand. As Newt scrambles toward the coolers under the table for colder samples of his beer, in a way not dissimilar to the raccoon that’s taken up residence in his trash cans scooping up scraps, The Wolf King is suddenly struck with a feeling of something close to impending doom.

 

Looking at the beat-up Chuck Taylors sticking out underneath the table cloth, low-top and trash-compactor dirty, it only intensifies. He didn’t expect to like Geiszler as much he does.

 

“I-” He blurts out, and then stops. Orian Franklin has never been a man known to _blurt._ There’s a sudden, tell-tale bump of Newt popping up and slamming his head on the underside of his own table.

 

Orian disregards this before continuing, “Oh, now, there’s no need for all that. This uh, Knifehead is perfectly satisfactory. Wonderful. I appreciate, though, how Johnny-on-the-spot you’ve been with your, ah, your product, here.”

 

Newt mouths ‘johnny-on-the-spot’ privately to himself, like he can’t believe those were the words just said, before looking back up at him. He’s pressing another bottle, OTACHI, this one green, to the growing red spot on his forehead.

 

“Uh,” Newt says, a little slack-jawed. Orian wonders if the bump on his head was something more serious. “Thanks, dude. It’s a good one, yeah.”

 

Another one of the few upsides to his retirement, outside of no longer being a target for an unknown but still frightening number of attempted assassinations: He’s forgone a few of his old measures towards both security and image-upkeep. That’s fancy talk for letting himself go, just a touch.

 

All this to say, he shoves a large hand in the back pocket of his immaculately tailored dress pants for a sizeable wad of cash and hopes he brought the right bills. Goodbye, throwaway debit cards and offshore bank accounts. Hello, leaving the right wallet at home.

 

“A four-pack, if you would? Kindly.”

 

————

 

Craft beer makes a new, bi-weekly addition to his fridge, placed on a rack just below his endless supply of coconut water and sourdough starter. Always from Newt, always in a rainbow of colors, always with the monsters.

 

Here’s what he’s learned of the monsters: His new playground crush is veritably obsessed with what he refers to as _kaiju,_ the Japanese term for _strange creatures,_ something that explains most of the rest of his proto-nerdy interests. They decorate his arms, chest, and product. He does the illustrations himself, which excuses the sloppiness, with help from his tattoo artist, which justifies the detail.

It only really gets serious when Orian makes the executive decision to buy a stand of his own.

 

The Wolf King needs a hobby, and one that doesn’t involve dropping disproportionate sums of money on overpriced drinks as an excuse to have three-minute conversations with the man behind the counter. One that hopefully comes with the added bonus of Newt Geiszler.

 

With any luck, both things will involve working with his hands.

 

Orian sighs, purses his lips, crosses his ankles on the smooth, hardwood surface of his specially-commissioned coffee table. Steeples his fingers. Weighs his options. He doesn’t suppose organic gardening can be all that hard, with his roof space and unlimited funds. Any harder than running something of a mafia. He wouldn’t be shot at, for god’s sakes, he doesn’t know how productive he could possibly be without the omnipresent threat of death or subterfuge around the corner.

 

And if there’s one thing he’s sure of, Orian Franklin is never afraid to get a little dirty.

  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading <3  
> tuvstar.tumblr.com
> 
> the self indulgence of this


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